


european sympathy for me and all my friends

by orphan_account



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25286776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “You’re my commanding officer, Rick,” he replied cautiously.“That’s right. So when I tell you to get on your knees and do your job right, you better- you’re gonna fucking listen.”--Power imbalances on the Citadel.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	european sympathy for me and all my friends

“Come on, Morty, don’t- eeeerp- don’t make me write you up.” Rick gestured towards his office. “Again.”

Morty didn’t think he liked where this was going. He’d already gotten a few yellow slips that month, and the Citadel Guard had gotten pretty serious about that sort of bureaucratic bullshit. Besides, he’d learned a long time ago that when a Rick told him to jump, it was usually best to hang his head and ask how high. It didn’t stop him from dragging his feet a little, scuffing the toes of his spit-shined boots on the concrete. 

“I-I’m supposed to be on duty,” he complained once he was inside. Rick shut the door behind them and advanced on him. “And I’m gonna be late for formation tonight, I bet.” 

“Remind me who the- who’s- who assigned you to the fuckin’, to your post,” he said, backing Morty up until he was trapped between Rick and his desk. He carefully avoided the carved wooden nameplate and official Guard logo-emblazoned pencil cup. Rick always made him clean up any messes he made. 

_It’s in your job description to be organized, Morty._

Morty was doing his best to look over Rick’s shoulder. Rick corrected that behavior with a finger under his chin, tilting his head up so he was forced to confront the nippy avarice in his eyes. “You’re my commanding officer, Rick,” he replied cautiously. 

“That’s right. So when I tell you to get on your knees and do your job right, you better- you’re gonna fucking listen.” 

Rick implored Morty to kneel with a suggestive white-knuckle fist in his brown hair. Morty scowled but submitted, worried about wrinkling his black leggings or getting grime from the floor on the knees. He yelped in protest when Rick shoved his face against his crotch. “Jeez. You packing an e-e-extra portal gun, o-or are you hah- just happy to see me?” 

He snorted. “Neither.” Morty tried to look at him with the same dispassion that edged into his voice. “You just look like- look so hot in that little uniform, all out on your patrol.” 

Morty’s stomach swelled. He hoped Rick couldn’t feel his smile where his mouth was pressed against his clothed cock. 

“Anyhow, Morty, you’re doing an awful lot of speaking out of tu-urgh-rn. Do you know what they used to do with mouthy fucking brats like you?” 

Morty sat up straight and turned his eyes up at Rick. Between the slurring and the caustic lecturing, he figured Rick had been getting a little bit sloppy on the job. 

Then again, what Rick wasn’t?

“Answer me when I ask you a question.” 

“Wh- um, what did they used to, what,” Morty strained to remember the rest of the issue at hand. Most of his brain cells were trying to keep his cock disinterested in the current situation. When Rick glared down at him and cut him off with a light slap, he abandoned the losing battle and groaned. 

“How did you ever clear your fucking entry exams? Or basic training, for that matter.” Rick didn’t have to say _moron_ for Morty to hear it, but either way, he was heating up fast and Rick’s voice was combustible like kerosene. “Jesus Christ. They used to wash our mouths out with hand soap for being half as disrespectful as you are right now. Keep pushing it, Morty, maybe we can bring corporal punishment back in style.” 

Morty wanted to object to the idea, but Rick would immediately employ it if he did. He nuzzled at Rick’s cock agreeably instead of putting up a fight. Moving slowly, he smoothed his palms up Rick’s slim thighs, his fingers spread against them in a show of compliance. 

“Much better. Don’t worry, baby, I wouldn’t- I’ll give you something much nicer than a bar of soap. Just, you just have to keep listening, be a good boy and listen.” 

He didn’t think he could ever stop listening, not with Rick twisting his fingers in his hair with one hand and stroking his cheek with the other. He could smell Rick through his slacks. His shift had dragged on for _so long_ , and though his knees weren’t thrilled by the recent developments, his ankles thanked him for the break. 

Really, he should be thanking Rick. 

“Don’t you ever keep me waiting on your dumbass when I call you to my office, Morty.” He was surprised Rick was still talking to him. Usually by this point he’d have Morty undo his belt and either suck or bend over. The suspense chords of it all definitely _didn’t_ send little goosebumps over Morty’s arms. “If I want you somewhere, I want you there fucking yesterday. If I want to wake you up at four in the morning to bust in your tight ass when you have assignments at five, I’m gonna do it. And if I tell you you’re gonna jerk me off at my desk or I’ll write you a citation, you’re gonna ask me if I want you to do it with your gloves on or off.” 

Morty’s body had pretty much stopped functioning, aside from dousing his system with buckets of libido-laced testosterone. Rick’s little reprimanding had him shifting his hips on the floor, scrabbling for purchase and any hint of relief. God, he kind of hoped Rick wanted to throw him over his desk. 

“Ask me, Morty.”

What had he been going on about? Morty stopped humping at the ground to think. “Should- should I jerk you off with my gloves on or off, g-grandpa Rick?” 

Rick rubbed himself against Morty’s cheek, and Morty felt a sense of perverse victory at the hitch in his breath. Rick was an expert player, but Morty had long since slipped a few tricks up his sleeve so he could win a few hands. 

“Definitely on, sweetie. Now respect your superior and do as you’re told.” 

Morty obliged promptly. He always did. He unbuckled Rick’s belt, zipped his fly down, and pulled his cock out of his briefs with regretful experience. 

“Lick your fucking palm before you even think about it,” Rick ordered, and reached over Morty to pick up something from his desk. Morty caught sight of it while he ran his wet tongue over his leather glove- something amber-colored in a liquor tumbler. He regarded Morty while he sipped, sucking down a mouthful as Morty sucked his fingers to get them wet. His chuckle was cruel and Morty resented it just as much as he fucking loved it. “Slut.” 

It wasn’t a question, just a matter of fact, so Morty kept his mouth shut. He closed his short fingers around Rick’s wide cock. He couldn’t quite fit the whole thing in his hand, but judging by Rick’s appreciative intone, he didn’t mind all that much. Morty shivered with empathetic pleasure as he stroked in long, lazy admirations. He picked up just a hair when Rick took a drink, smirked with his own satisfaction when he sputtered. 

“Lick the tip, baby, let me feel your mouth, just the- just the tip, Morty.” Morty’s elbow was starting to numb but he kept up his pace, his small tongue slipping out so he could tease it along Rick’s slit. His precum was bitter and musky, and it was coating his standard-issue gloves with a thin sheen of sex as he deferred to Rick’s authority. He sucked the proud head into his mouth, licked happily, whined a little bit around it. 

He must have done something _wrong_ without realizing, because Rick’s heavy boot had come to rest between his legs, his toe pressed dangerously on Morty’s hard cock. He looked up at Rick with a raised eyebrow, didn’t break his concentration. 

“I can _see you_ rubbing off on the ground,” Rick said, sneering. “This isn’t about you. You’re on the clock, Morty. You can jack it on your own time.” 

Morty almost snorted- he never had his own time. He kept a tight schedule when he wasn’t being taken advantage of during work hours. He shifted his hips obediently, though, couldn’t help but moan when he rubbed himself against Rick’s sole. 

“Fuck, just listen to you. You wanna grind on my boot sometime, baby? Maybe- it’s, maybe if you’re a _really_ good boy, maybe grandpa will let you get off on his shoes, someday,” he said, and downed his drink. Morty was all too aware of the slight roll in his hips. The tip of his dick nudged just a little further past his lips. That, coupled with the fascinating concept of being held under Rick’s shoe and rutting like a prey animal, had him so, so unbearably turned on; he pulled his mouth off so he could rub his cheek against his superior’s slick cock fondly. 

“Rick, I want to make you come, _please,_ ” he murmured, and Rick just grinned back down at him, pet his damp curls away from his flushed forehead. 

“What did I tell you about shutting your mouth when you’re not being spoken to? I know you just wanna get out of here so you don’t get a writeup from your drill instructor.” Rick was teasing, but Morty could tell there wasn’t any bite to it. Sometimes he was able to disarm Rick with his earnest sexuality. He smiled and batted his lashes, bit his lip and made his small hand nice and tight for his alpha grandfather. “You gotta- gotta move faster, if you want me to get off anytime soon.” 

Morty did as he was told, rubbing Rick off in the dirty and desperate way he touched himself when he wanted to come hard and move along quickly. He made good use of his mouth, ran his tongue over the underside of Rick’s cock, made inviting eye contact with Rick, who towered above him like the Citadel itself.

“Tell me I can come on your face, Morty.” 

“Oh, god.” 

Rick shook his head and tsked at him, disapproving through and through. “Tell me what I want to hear, Morty, or I’m gonna fuck your throat raw until they come to find out what’s keeping you from your shift _tomorrow_.”

Oh, _god._ Rick had to know Morty wouldn’t mind that. He shuddered in defeat, the pleasure of being wanted to the point of violence making him smile even with his commanding officer’s cock resting on his chapped lips. 

“I want your cum, Rick,” he started, “want you to come on my face and…” He picked his brain for something that Rick would like to hear. “M-make, make me wear it out to the mess hall, make everyone know I’m, I’m your, that you’re my _commander.”_

Rick came on his mouth and cheek with a labored breath, their shared DNA spattering hot on his skin. His cock twinged in Morty’s hand while he rode it out. Morty felt sticky and satisfied and affectionate, watching his partner’s expression roll in the ecstasy of conquest and release. 

“A-a-at ease, you fucking whore,” he chided gently. Morty recognized contentment in his smile and his steady hands, tucking himself away and fixing up his belt. 

Morty licked his lips absently and swept Rick’s cum into his mouth, showing Rick how it stuck in thick strands on his tongue. “Was I- did I, you proud of me, General?” He asked, after swallowing his mouthful of potential relatives. 

“Hah. Barely.” 

Morty wiped at his cheek and got to his feet, pressing a messy and docile kiss to his Rick’s chin when he was at his full height. Rick responded by smacking his ass roughly and growling his name in his ear as if he was using it to haze him. 

“Yes, Rick?” 

“Clean yourself up. An untidy uniform is, it’s, I’m gonna fuckin’ issue a dress code violation if you’re not presentable next time I see you. Besides that, you’re way behind schedule. Get the f- fu- the fuck out of my office, Morty.” 

Rick gave him a soft push towards the door and Morty hustled, hoping he could both follow orders and make his evening obligations in time. It was looking less and less likely, and he knew what _that_ meant. Time for the next step in the cycle of unintentional insubordination and disproportionate punishment. 

He adjusted his hard-on, trapped it underneath the waistband of his boxers like he was used to when he had to get on with his responsibilities. 

He had work to do for his Citadel, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to rickmorty twitter for inspiring endless degeneracy :) 
> 
> title from HEAT by tiger’s jaw. the guitar in that song reminds me of em.
> 
> i wanted to write something quick! and explore r&m dynamics! enjoy! <3 
> 
> find me on tweeter as @rickestmortys!


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